Emily Holmes
by BrambleTheArcher
Summary: (Just a bit of something I whipped up ever since I started watching Sherlock BBC two months ago. Please comment!) My name is Emily Holmes. I live on 221B Baker Street, in London. You're probably wondering who I am. This, this writing, is me. Read it, and you'll find out who this mysterious person, aka me, really is.


Heya! This is my very first fanfiction post! YAY! Sorry, I recently had three cups of coffee today, so I'm hyper as all get out. Heehee. Sooo...

Again first fanfic here. I'm new. I read a lot of fanfics, not so much write them. This seems really weird, sharing a story with the world. Never done it before. But, hope you enjoy it! This is only Part 1 of my ENTIRE fanfic, which I'm currently writing. It's taking a while, cuz I'm busy with school and homework and my rock climbing program. Plus I have to get my IT guy back here to fix my computer again cuz of something. I hate viruses...

So, hope you enjoy it! Please comment! Need the opinions and help to make this fanfic better! Thanks! Enjoy!

-BrambleTheArcher 

My name is Emily Elizabeth Andrea Richardson. At least, that's what it was. My name is now Emily Elizabeth Andrea Holmes. Yes, Holmes. I live on 221B Baker Street, in London. I've lived there since I was 12 years old. I'm 14 now. I'm 5'5, have blonde hair that reaches my shoulders, bright blue eyes, and freckles on my nose and cheekbones that I sometimes cannot stand. I'm smart, too. I hardly pay attention in class, but walk out of exams with top marks. It really confuses the teachers. I know pretty much all of it already, but, it being my last year at my school, I don't want to miss anything. The only reason I go is to see my friends. Why just at school? I have trust issues. It's a long story from my past that I don't care to tell right now.

I was taken in, by what you might say the most unusual man you will ever meet. His name; Sherlock Holmes. Now, I know what you're thinking, and I am not crazy. My mother died when I was 12, and for a whole year, there was a case of who would take me in. It certainly wouldn't be my father, because he would beat me. It wouldn't be my grandparents, they're dead. It wouldn't be my uncle from my mom's side, he was an alcohol and drug addict. My aunt, his ex-wife, was somewhere else in the world. My uncle on my dad's side was dead, too. Along with his wife. Killed in a car fire. So, for an entire year, I was in school, as well as court, and living in a small flat with Sherlock.

I couldn't go back to the home for girls, it was cruel. At least, the other girls there were. They made my life twice as hard as it was. Bullying me, teasing me, taking my things. It was hard. I feared going back there more than I feared going to court. So, Sherlock, everyday, would take me back to her flat. For a whole year, I began to grow close to Sherlock. Sherlock, as strange as he was to others, was, well, normal, to me. He would laugh, smile, play the violin while I played the piano, he even taught me how to play the violin. He became-this will sound completely crazy-like a father to me. He taught me everything he knew about mathematics, science, and history. When my case was finally settled, and I went back to the flat with D.I. Lestrade-who became like an uncle to me- to gather my things, I was sad. I didn't know where I was going to go. Probably into the foster care system. But, as I was about to leave, Sherlock came up to me at the door.

He asked me where I was going, and I nodded to a taxi waiting for me. He smiled, and said to Lestrade that I would be staying for awhile. I was so happy. I finally had a home! I whirled around on my heel, and I carried my two suitcases of clothes, my backpack of my most precious possessions on my back, with me back to the flat. Sherlock directed me to my _very own room_ up in his flat, and I began to unpack. I had a window that looked out into the street, with a lovely white lace curtain, a beautiful-but what looked like very heavy-oak bookshelf, that had many, many books on it, a dresser with a mirror, a closet, and my bed. It had a beautiful dark purple quilt on it, with white cotton sheets, and an oak bed frame with a beautiful headboard, that had reliefs on it that looked like cherry trees. As I stored my suitcases on a shelf in the closet, I heard Lestrade and Sherlock laughing. Joyful, happy, excited laughing.

I crept out, and I heard a rustle of papers. I became even more curious. I was in the living room, and I was about to go down the stairs, but then I had heard Sherlock's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I ran back to my bedroom, and acted like I was straightening out my clothes in my dresser. I looked up, and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, leaning on the frame, a smirk across his face. "So, Emily Andrea Holmes, shall we go out and celebrate the closing of your case?" He had asked. I smiled and nodded. Emily Andrea Holmes.

I liked that.

Sooo... what do ya think? Please comment below! Hope you enjoyed! I'll be posting more progressively as I continue to finish it. And by it I mean my fanfiction. Thanks for reading! Remember to comment!


End file.
